


waiting for you

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Breakfast, F/M, Gen, Proposals, Sappy Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Two fics written for the tumblr prompt "I've been waiting all my life for you."





	1. Chapter 1

“Jesus.” Joan pushed her thick-framed glasses up her nose with one hand, shifted against the pillows as she adjusted the folded newspaper in her lap. Sighing, she wrote in another answer, in ink this time. Her studious manner was belied by the fact that she was completely naked, barely covered by a sheet. “You’d think Will Weng would have gotten over Indiana by now.”

Lane grinned as he glanced over and saw the deep furrow that had formed between her brows. “What?”

“Terre Haute four weeks ago. Then Muncie. Bloomington. Pawnee.” She let out another huff as she gestured to the paper; rolled her eyes. “Who the hell cares?”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat before he could help it. “What’ve any of those poor places ever done to you?”

“Ruined a perfectly good Sunday puzzle,” Joan grumbled. The flannel sheet slipped down and pooled around her hips; Lane couldn’t help noticing how pretty she looked. “Because now I’m remembering how many times I’ve seen idiots misspell these dumb names in print.” She shook her head in a pitying fashion. “I should write in to complain.”

 _You’re adorable,_ he began to tell her, but when he opened his mouth something entirely different came out.

“Marry me.”

Joan gave him a scorching glare. “That’s not funny.”

Lane scrabbled closer, put a hand on her knee; the fountain pen tumbled from her hand as she startled upright. 

“Stop it,” she continued in a rush. “I’m serious. Please don’t turn it into—”

“Joan.” Lane cupped her jaw in his other hand; when they locked gazes, she went very still. “I fell in love with you on our very first date.” 

Her eyes were huge; voice, very soft. “W—with the drunk waiter?”

“And the burnt food.” He let out a short laugh. “Thought I’d buggered everything up. But you didn’t bat an eyelash, just gave me this—brilliant smile—grabbed the bottle of wine by the neck, and said, _well, if the staff’s having this much fun tonight, why can’t we?_ ”

“You were so flustered. I just wanted to make you smile.” 

“And you did. You were incredible.” Lane rubbed the pad of his thumb across the apple of her cheek; Joan’s breath hitched in her throat. “By the end of the night, it felt like I’d been waiting all my life for you.”

She started to cry. “Lane.”

“You’re so lovely and clever and darling and – and – god, I’m buggering this bit up, too, but I just can’t hold it in any longer. Joan, darling, please say you’ll marry me.”

“But -- but I’m not even dressed.” 

He did a double-take, pulled back a little. “What?”

“You’re proposing and I’m not even dressed,” Joan repeated through a wet sniff. “How the hell are we supposed to tell people about it?”

“Hang on, I – you are saying yes, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” Joan swiped a sparkle of tears from her lashes, let out a wheeze of a laugh. “I love you.”

“Thank god for that.” He embraced her with a desperate noise; they kissed for so long he ended up sprawled out over her on the bed again. “Bloody amazing. Please be my wife.”

“I will. I will. Ask me again at lunch,” Joan murmured between kisses, as they flung blankets and pillows and the newspaper into the floor. Her fountain pen flew into the carpet nib-first in an arc of blue ink. “I’ll act very surprised.”

“Anything for you, love.” He was delirious with happiness. “Anything you like.”


	2. Chapter 2

At nine thirty, when Joan finally staggered out of bed and down the hallway to the too-bright kitchen, she was met by an enormous cup of coffee held by a very cheerful boyfriend.

“Here, love. Drink this.”

“Oh, thank god.” 

She was so bleary-eyed all she could do was loop one arm around Lane’s neck before taking the cup from him, still half-asleep. Kevin had woken up screaming from a nightmare around 1AM and sobbed bloody murder for a couple of hours. He’d only gone down again because Joan had walked him around the house like a baby, carried his hefty little body up and down the hall until he’d finally fallen asleep on her shoulder, her arms locked in place around his back and her left hip screaming in protest.

Lane was still chatting to her; although Joan was catching roughly half the words, just hearing his voice made her feel better. He was so calm about enduring all the little annoyances that peppered life with a toddler. And he’d let her sleep in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to sleep in. 

When they sat down at the kitchen table, he set a full plate in front of her: French toast, half a grapefruit, and some bacon. How the hell he knew she didn’t want diet food this morning, Joan had no idea. But she didn’t question her luck, just forked a big bite into her mouth before someone could take it away.

Even her mother seemed surprised when she popped into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee, and Lane gestured toward the fridge from behind his newspaper. “Gail, saved you a plate if you want any.”

“Wow.” Her mother raised an imperious eyebrow, inspecting the saran-wrapped plate with barely-veiled suspicion. “Someone had a better night than I thought.”

Joan was finally awake enough to throw her mother a warning glare. _Stop it. He’s thoughtful._

“What? I’m not dating him,” Mom’s lips quirked up into a sharklike grin as she ripped the shrink-wrap from the plate and tossed it onto the counter; Joan made a fierce shooing motion with one hand as they locked eyes. _Get out already._

“Thank you, Lane,” her mother trilled loudly.

He sounded like he was trying not to smile, still pretending to read. “Very welcome.”

In the other room, Kevin babbled to himself and to her mother as Mom walked past. With a pleased noise, Lane put his newspaper down, and took another drink of his tea. When their eyes met, he smiled broadly at her.

“Feeling better?” 

A rush of affection struck Joan so suddenly that tears prickled in her eyes; on impulse, she reached out and squeezed his left forearm, hard. He startled at the touch, and a pleased flush crept through his face as she caressed the side of his wrist with one finger.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”


End file.
